Never or Ever
by babydixon
Summary: I edited a few things in the first chapter, so you should probably re-read it. Takes place after season 3 - Daryl/OC
1. Louisiana Girl

**AN: I added on a lot more, and made this sort of the prologue. Sorry about that, but it needed a lot of refining and what not. It just didn't seem finished when I first posted it. **

**But thank you to the couple folks who reviewed it already. I hope you all like the changes.**

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_Daryl Dixon was drunk. He usually was on Friday nights, but this particular Friday night, was the Fourth of July; and what other way to celebrate than in New Orleans, in a bar, in the French Quarter? He lifted the shot glass to his numb lips and slammed it back down on the bar. "Another!" He slurred, half falling off of his bar stool._

_She sighed. She hated her job on holidays, and cursed herself for signing up for the extra hours; especially because The Fourth wasn't a 'time and a half' kind of holiday. And she definitely wasn't a patriotic kind of girl. She knew that this pathetic, out-of-towner was way far gone. She knew that he had had enough, and had hit the point of intoxication where she should stop serving him. But she poured him one last shot, and one for herself._

_He smiled a goofy smile, and raised his tiny glass. "To this beautiful Louisiana girl," he said before throwing the whiskey back. He stood up as best he could, and staggered off through the crowd, and out the front door._

_"To a man I'll never see again."_

_She downed her shot as fast as she poured herself another one, and another one, and another one. And before she knew it she was laughing by herself at the end of the bar that she had vacated. _

_"You know it's not fair," She said to herself. She was half talking to Gia, her co-worker, who took over after she decided to drown herself in her problems. "It's just… not… fair." She traced her finger along the mouth of the bottle of Jack that sat a fourth empty in front of her. "But that's life! My Daddy always said. The game's not fair but we keep playing, 'cause we're too cowardly to quit."_

_"Who're you talking to, babe?" She looked up to see Gia standing there. She lifted her index finger and her thumb in the shape of a handgun, pointed it to her temple, she pulled the trigger._

_"Boom," She whispered. "Daddy shot 'imself dead right in front of me. Said he won't gon' be no coward."_

_"You've had enough." Gia pried the bottle out of her hands and capped it. Setting it back on the top shelf where it belonged. "Here, let me take you home."_

_She shrugged the younger girl off of her and fixed her tank top. "I can help myself, thank you." She took one step and her knees gave out from under her. But Gia only watched, knowing her friend was too stubborn to ask for help from anyone. "Ouch." She said loudly._

_"Honey, do you even know where you live?" Gia asked._

_"Of course I know where I live. What kind of dumbass question is that? 'Do I know where I live?' Yes I know where I live. I live at 3467 Gough Street, Baltimore, Maryland. What you think, I'm stupid or somethin'?" Gia sighed. She half crawled to the exit, and when she finally got up, she walked into the exit door, pulling instead of pushing. "Gi, why is it so loud in here? Like, the bar is closed for Christ's sake, you can turn the music down. And this fuckin' door won't open, good Lord."_

_"What music? And this is Louisiana, not Maryland." Gia just shook her head as she watched her whiskey beaten friend wobble out of the double doors._

_She stepped out of the bar and into the humid southern Louisiana air, practically gagging, as if felt like the air itself was choking her. It was late, but on every corner there was still a saxophone player, or a fake psychic trying to swindle some money out of a tourist. And a few stragglers still lurked through the dark streets. She was drunk, clinging to the brick walls as she walked, but she still had a sense that it was not safe to walk downtown alone._

_Her head snapped up as a shot rang through the air, her heart nearly jumping through her chest. Fireworks. It was Independence Day, after all. "It's so fucking loud!" She yelled. Probably attracting more attention to herself than need be, but she didn't care. Her ears felt as if they were bleeding, and her head was pounding. Another shot rang through the air, and the sky was filled with red, white, and blue sparks._

_"Can you shut the fuck up already!" She cursed the sky. "No one gives a fuck about this damned country. It's all gon' go to shit anyways!"_

_Immediately, she felt nauseous, and fell back to her knees._

_"Hey, are you alrigh'?" She heard a man to the right of her coming up the alleyway that she was kneeling in front of. She rolled her eyes. She wasn't in the mood for company, and she certainly wasn't in any position to fight away any perverted men._

_"I have pepper spray, and a mean right hook, it's probably in your best interest to leave me alo-" She gagged, and tried her hardest to swallow down all of the alcohol that she had drank tonight. It was probably too late to call Gia, or to turn back around and go back to her bar. What a stupid decision that was, leaving alone._

_Two black leather boots stopped right in front of her. "You don' look like y're gon' be right hookin' anyone." He kneeled in front of her. "Want me to hold y're hair or somethin'?"_

_She tried to laugh, but the only feeling she could muster right now was hostility. "Can you just leave me alone?" She looked up at him, and half recognized his face. At least, she thought he looked familiar. But as soon as she got a good look at his face, she threw up. _Ironic_, she thought. And felt two hands holding her hair out of her face._

_"It's alrigh', I done this plen'y of times; and for uglier girls, too." Was that supposed to be some kind of pick-up line? She couldn't control her stomach as she violently threw up all over the sidewalk._

_When she was finished she wiped the tears from her eyes, and stood up as steady as she possibly could, focusing on the man standing in front of her. His short sand colored hair, and tan skin, and his ridiculously wicked, bright blue eyes, that she could see even in the dark._

_"Hey aren' you that bartender?" He asked._

_"Drunk tourist guy?" She said. "I thought I recognized you. How've you been? Haven't seen you in such a long time." He laughed. But she wasn't trying to come off funny, she was trying to be a sarcastic bitch, as per usual. _

_"Not so drunk now," He replied. "But I see you worked a number on y'self."_

_"Nothing I can't handle." She snapped. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I got a ways to walk." She stepped passed him, bumping into him as she did, and continued on her way to her apartment._

_"Well, we're goin' the same way, if you don't mind the comp'ny." She sighed loudly, and tossed her head back, cursing once again and the night's sky. _Take the holiday shift, get stuck with some loser tourist, what are the odds…_ She thought to herself._

_"I guess not. As if I really have a choice."_

_"Name's Daryl."_

_"Awesome."_

_They walked in silence for a while, and she could feel herself getting more tired with each unsteady step she took. She found herself having to grab ahold of her walking partner from time to time. Not that he minded, at all. _

_The thick air wasn't making it any better, either. It was like a hot blanket smothering her. She stopped for a moment and looked around. Unaware of her surroundings, "Wait a second. Where am I?" She looked at Daryl, "Where are you taking me? This isn't the way to my apartment."_

_She stepped towards him and raised her hand, but he caught it before she could smack him. "I was only followin' y're lead." He said. "If you don' know where you live, my motel is right 'round the corner there. Y're welcome to stay with me. Get some sleep, I'm sure you'll know where you are in the mornin'."_

_"I'm not gon' stay with some stranger I just met. Daryl. Who the fuck are you? You don't know me." But she knew that if he was going to hurt her, he would've already. He wouldn't have asked to hold her hair._

_"You're sure as 'ell right, I don'." He replied. "You could fuckin' rob me in the middle of the nigh', and take off with all my money. But I ain't gon' leave you out 'ere by y'rself."_

_The easy answer was no. He could be a rapist. But if she didn't go with him, she'd pass out in the street and be bait for sure. She sighed loudly, once more. "Fuckin' bullshit, you know that?" She took a step toward him, and almost fell over, again to her knees. "But fine, take me to your goddamn motel. But if you try anything, I will fucking pepper spray your ass."_

_Daryl held his hands up, innocently._

_"I'm Megan, by the way. If we're gon' be spendin' the night with each other and all. Might as well get acquainted."_

_The next morning she woke up with the worst feeling in her stomach and a killer headache. She looked around at her surroundings, and practically threw up in her mouth. This wasn't her. She didn't get drunk and sleep with random men. Her father had taught her better than that. But he had also taught her not to be a coward, and to take the gun when he was finished, and do what he did. _

_She heard the water in the bathroom turn off. He was still here. Who? She had no idea, but she knew that she needed to get out. She wasn't one for morning afters, or awkward situations. And this topped the list for both in her book. She pulled her boots on and bolted out the door, slamming it on the way out._

_Daryl's head snapped up and he quickly wrapped the towel around his lower half, running out to the balcony of the motel. "Hey!" He yelled after her, but she didn't turn around. He sighed, frowned, and sulked back into the tiny room that he had shared with the girl, only if for a night. Something caught his eye though, on the floor, right under the edge of the bed. It was a bracelet; silver with the words 'with love' engraved on the inside. He pocketed it, figuring that he could pawn it for a little bit of cash. He would've returned it, but with an exit like that, he thought, why should he?_

_Megan found herself back behind her bar. "Gia!" She yelled, and the tiny girl appeared in the kitchen window. _

_"Holy shit, I thought you were dead on the street somewhere, I tried calling you, I went to your apartme-"_

_"I'm fine." She pulled her favorite bottle of Jack off the top shelf and poured herself one more shot. "The only cure for a hangover, is to keep drinking. My Daddy taught me that, too." She raised her glass to Gia, and smiled. "To a man I'll never see again." And this time she wasn't sure if she was talking about her father, or Daryl._


	2. Shoot to Kill

**AN: Okay, so that was the main flashback! Now on to the main story, which I also added some little things here as well. Again, let me know what you guys think, and thanks for the reviews. They are much appreciated. If you like it, or if you don't, let me know. Any little thing helps.**

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The rain poured. It poured, and poured, and poured. The kind of rain that you thought would never stop. Because where you went, it went with you. The kind of rain you got in Louisiana. Hot summer rain. And even when the sun was shining, you were still soaked, because it was so humid. But this wasn't Louisiana. This wasn't Maryland. This was nowhere. A small lean-to in the backwoods, somewhere in Georgia. I wasn't even sure anymore.

But I was sure that I wasn't home. Because I no longer had a home.

I had lost count of the days. My pen had run out of ink, and whenever I went scavenging through some store, I never really came around to getting a new one. It had been well over two-hundred. But I refused to believe that it had been a year. It couldn't have been a year. I traced my fingers along all the little black lines I had made on the back of a Walgreens receipt, and sighed. They said the cities were safe, they lied. New Orleans, Mobile, Montgomery, Atlanta… They were nothing but infested dead ends. I couldn't tell you the last time that I actually saw a human face, the last time that I actually had a real conversation. I probably wouldn't be able to tell you what my own voice sounded like anymore. I had been alone for the number of days that these little black tick marks added up to.

My bag became heavier every day. 'Travel light,' they said. 'Take only what you need', they said. I once knew a guy who was an 'apocalypse' enthusiast. His name was Bill, and he lived three doors down the hall from me. One day I had gotten caught in the elevator with him on my way to work, and he told me what I would need if the world ever ended, and he told me that I could always stick with him and he'd keep me safe. He died five days after the 'outbreak'. I tossed my bag up against the wall, and used it as a pillow. There was nothing in there but a few cans of Spaghetti O's that I was saving, and some clothes, and ammunition. And I didn't even have a gun. That was another lesson I had learned from Bill.

While everyone else went around shooting the 'biters' and each other, they couldn't find out why they kept getting surrounded. Bill had told me that the noise attracted them, and he gave me a machete. It wasn't even sharp, and the reach was a bitch, but it got the job done. Before I put the blade through Bill's skull he told me not to bother carrying more than I could handle. He said it'd be rough, but I could find whatever I needed on the road. He said he had faith in me, and that I should have faith in myself.

I found it extremely pathetic that a man I knew for less than a month became the closest thing I had to a father-figure.

The rain was too heavy to keep going. I'd be walker bait for sure in this mess if I kept running. Nothing phased them. Not rain, or lightning, or even fire. They were already dead, they didn't have a care in the world but for their stomachs. And they couldn't die of starvation.

I shrugged my bag off of my shoulders and tried massaging my muscles. They were sore, and they were only going to get worse sleeping on the hard, wet ground. I tried using my bag as a pillow, but it wasn't really working. I punched it a few times, trying to smooth out the clothes that were bunched up inside of it, still uncomfortable. The rain pelted the roof of the shack, and I listened hard, willing it to lull me to sleep. But I was so sick of the sound of rain. I imagined my bed back home, the way my head sunk into the pillows; the cool breeze that drafted through my window, bringing with it the smell of hot gumbo and spicy seafood. All I could smell now through was dirt, sweat, mud, and mildew.

I sat up and pulled my bag into my lap. In the last house that I scavenged through, I had found a bottle of Advil PM. There were only three pills left, and they weren't Oxy's or anything, but they'd do the trick. I lifted the water bottle to my lips and downed the pills, letting out a sigh of relief. Suddenly the floor felt much more comfortable, and my bag felt like a cool goose-feather pillow. My eyelids grew heavy after a while, and I felt myself drifting off. But before I fell asleep, I prayed that after three days, this rain would end somehow.

I jumped out of my sleep, heart pounding, and Machete already in hand. I had no idea how long I had been out, but the sun was blazing through the cracks in the wood, and there was someone coming. Not just someone, someone dead. I could smell the hot, rotting flesh and I could hear it dragging its feet through the leaves; moaning, as if it was trying to communicate with me. It stopped right at the entrance to the wooden lean-to, and just as I went to strike, an arrow flew through the air, and went clean through the biter's skull, into the wall behind me. Before I could even process what had just happened, I hopped to my feet and as soon as I did, I felt a sharp pain in my left shoulder. I looked down to see another arrow sticking right out of me.

"I got it!" I heard someone yell. I fell backwards, hitting my head. My vision was blurred, and I saw a man appear before me. "Shit, no… No, I didn't."

"What'ya mean you didn't?" Someone else replied in the distance.

"Well, I did, but—"

I saw another man join the first man in the entrance. I wanted to scream at them to do something. After all, they did shoot me. "God damnit, Daryl. Look before you shoot." The second man rushed to my side and began snapping in my face. "Look at me. HEY! LOOK. AT. ME." I tried focusing as much as I possibly could. "Hey!" My eyes snapped open. "What's your name?" He asked.

I licked my dry lips and pressed them together, trying to make some sort of sound. "M- Megan." I managed to get out right before everything went black.


	3. Jeremiah

**AN: Thanks so much for the reviews guys, they mean so much. **

**Also, this story is starting out slow, but trust me, I have amazing ideas for it that I have all planned out, I just need to get over the beginning hump. The next chapter should have much more drama and Daryl, and good things and stuff. So don't fret, my lovelies. **

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I was dead.

Everyone I knew was dead.

And this was Hell.

My hands immediately wandered around the bed in search for my machete, but it wasn't found. Stop panicking, I told myself. I opened my eyes. Concrete walls, concrete ceiling, and I was on the bottom bunk a cot bunk-bed. There were two pillows drenched in my own sweat under my head. It didn't take much to figure out that I was in a jail cell. _A fuckin' jail cell, are you kidding me?_

"I wouldn't move too much, if I were you." My head snapped up to the corner of the room where an old man with a stump leg sat. He was so quiet sitting there that I hadn't even noticed him before. "You were shot and broke your collar bone, and you have a slight concussion." He said, shifting his crutch to the other hand, and leaning back into his chair.

"Are you a doctor or a babysitter?" I asked through gritted teeth. _They shot me and broke my fuckin' collar bone, and I have a concussion, and took my god damn machete. Fuckin' locked me up in here like I was some sort of criminal._ The cot was so uncomfortable. I shifted to move onto my left side. "MOTHERFUCKER!"

"I told you, I wouldn't move too much." The old man reminded me. "And to answer your question, I'm a little bit of both. Now, I patched you up as best's I could, but you're gon' have to let it heal on its own for the most part." That didn't answer why he was in here watching me. But as if he read my mind he said, "I hope you don't mind me sittin' with you. With your concussion, I want to make sure you're still breathin' if you fall asleep again."

"Whatever, ol' man." I sighed and closed my eyes, just staring at the backs of my eyelids for a few minutes. _How was I supposed to rest with this ol' coot watchin' me?_

"And if it's not too much to ask, can you watch your language? There's youngin's around." I exhaled sharply in reply, and he just relaxed back in his chair.

"Children?" I asked him, to which he just nodded. _Where am I?_ I wondered. _How has this old man with half a leg survived in this world? How am I laying on a cot right now, and not dead? How are there children?_ I cleared my throat and opened my eyes, not wanting to see his face. It didn't work, and I could feel the tears begin to sting my eyes. "Hey, Doc, you got anything stronger for the pain? I am so uncomfortable."

"It's Hershel." He stated. "BETH!" He hollered, and not but five seconds later a young blonde woman was standing on the other side of the bars, with a baby in her arms. I blinked a few times to make sure that I was seeing things clearly.

"Yes, Daddy?" She looked at me, and I shifted my gaze to the corner of the room where her father sat.

"Would you mind gettin' me that bottle of sedatives in my bag, please sweetheart?" The girl nodded her head and eyed me one last time before shuffling off to find her father's bag. I could feel Hershel's eyes burning holes through me, but I kept staring at the top bunk. I refused to look at him and show him any emotion at all.

_I'm dreaming._"Where am I?" I asked him, eyes still posted on the mattress above mine. He sighed, and that was when I looked at him. "I mean, it's obvious I'm in a jail, righ'?"

"Well, priso-" He began to say, but was interrupted by his daughter. "Thank you, Junebug." I just swallowed to feeling of nausea. This is why I had left the groups I had been in before; the ties that bond. Family. That, or, maybe I just wasn't a people person. Beth opened the bars, after getting the go-ahead by her father. _It's not like I can make a run for it._ She handed him the black duffle bag, but she didn't leave. Instead, she lingered.

"I'm Beth." She said in a quiet, barely audible tone. She was no longer holding the baby that she was earlier. I just nodded in her direction and rolled my eyes. She couldn't have been more than fifteen, and already had a baby. _Damn teenagers can't keep it in their pants even after the world has ended._ "You could be a little bit more grateful. Rick and Daryl could've just left you out there to die."

"Beth." Her father scolded. She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, before stomping out of the room. Hershel just sighed. "Here, take these." He handed me two pills and a bottle of water.

"Methadone?" I asked. "Where the hell did you find these?" And then I remembered that this man was a doctor, so he probably had his own private stash of drugs. "Not that it matters," I said quickly after seeing the shock on Hershel's face. "This shi- stuff was hard to come by even before the pharmacy's were wiped."

He didn't say anything. He just sat in his chair, bible in hand, subconsciously swaying back and forth. I watched him for a while, playing through different scenarios in my head of what it would be like to stay here with this group. Not that they would want me to become a part of it, anyway. I couldn't even if they did. They seem so _conservative_.

"How old?" I asked slowly, as I could feel myself becoming more and more drowsy.

"Pardon me?"

"How old is the baby?"

"She's coming up on a month now, give or take." Hershel replied.

I smiled to myself; remembering what it was like to hold my own child when he was only one month old. The joy that I felt, along with confusion, and love. "She?"

"Her name's Judith."

"That's a beautiful na-"

When I woke up, the sun was shining brightly through the barred windows. I glanced over to the corner of the room to see that Hershel was no longer by my side. The metal chair was empty. I tried sitting up, and while the pain was still there, it wasn't as bad as it had been before. "Ouch." I muttered.

I looked up to see a young boy standing in front of the cell. There was crust still in my eyes, and I couldn't make out his face. "Jeremiah?" I asked. He didn't say anything. "Jeremiah, baby." I asked as I wiped my eyes. I focused on the boy. He stood there, long dark brown hair, freckles, wearing a Sheriff's hat. "I'm sorry." I said, realizing my own mistake.

He just walked away, and I felt more alone now than I ever had. With each uncontrollable sob, pain shot throughout my entire body. But I couldn't help it. I was alone and I was crying because I was alone. I was crying because I was hurt.

I was crying because everything that I had was gone.


End file.
